Love is a Rose
by TessII
Summary: Love is a rose. Blooming and wilting in a predictable pattern, emanating a romantic light which beckons with such a tempting flame... MoiveVerse
1. Venom of the Rose

Love is a Rose

Chapter 1: Venom of the Rose

Love is a rose. Blooming and wilting in a predictable pattern, emanating a romantic light which beckons with such a tempting flame. Possessing of a beauty for which the soul keens. But upon closer inspection, both love and the rose are imperfect; riddled with slithering, writhing things. Both love and the rose are covered with hidden thorns…and neither give any sign to the poison found within.

* * *

The rain pounded at the window, lightning illuminated false places, throwing shadows upon imaginary walls of darkness. This fickle lighting was the only source of sight. The room was silent as only a rain-soaked grave can be. And a grave it was. The grave of one's heart, a tomb for ones soul. And a wretched soul resided here. She lay indiscernible amongst the dark sheets until the heavens decided to flash once more, shining from gossamer skin and deep, dark hair.

She was lovely, a gothic angel, one mused as he gently stalked about the room. It was almost a pity… that he had to kill her. Such was his lot in life. Any normal creature would be unable to sense the decaying components lurking within this gothic angel's soul. Unable to sense the fact that her heart had poisoned itself. Unable to sense that her own body was betraying her.

"Tsk, Tsk, Betelgeuse what have you done this time?" At his words the lightning flashed more brightly than before, and left the room much, much darker. The feathers upon his obsidian wings raised invisibly in the chill of night. He was Gabriel, the angel of death, and God had sent him to retrieve the agonized soul of this beautiful creature. He would not fear a mere poltergeist. Nothing, not even the Fallen One himself, frightened Gabriel.

_"Bitch_ deserved_ what she got._" Echoed a new voice from the mirror, his sharp eyes narrowed and lips raised in a less-than-friendly smile. The ghoul seemed as filthy as he had ever been, if not more so.

"Perhaps." Agreed the Angel of Death, "but you did not deserve to punish her. Especially not in this manner." The speaker settled at the edge of the young woman's bed, gazing upon her fragile features.

"_I didn't do anything to her_." The Poltergeist snorted in annoyance. Gabriel sighed gently and caressed the woman's fragile cheek, ignoring the ghost's angry snarl.

"She truly is beautiful, despite the sickness within her soul." He smiled tenderly down at her, "I can understand why you would choose her to bind you to this plain." Here he leaned close, planting a kiss upon her forehead. "It is a pity that her death must come so soon, and by my hands."

"_And here I thought you were just enjoying the fucking scenery_." Snarled the poltergeist.

"Don't be so angry, Betelgeuse, it was you who condemned her to this fate, afterall." The angel of Death stood and turned to face the poltergeist.

"_What the hell are you talking about_?" Snapped the ghoul.

"Why don't you come out here, so we may discuss it, Betelgeuse?"

* * *

"Love is a rose. It shines with the radiant light of romance, seducing you with its beauty. Its luminosity blinds you to the sick terrors which live just below the leaves, blinds you to the thorns just beneath the surface. Love, like the rose, hides its venom in its beauty until it has met with another love which beckons and deceives in a similar fashion. Only then will the vileness within surface on both parts, and inject its fellow with the poison, binding the pair with their hate.

"But…if the match for the love does not exist, if the love felt by the individual is not returned, it has nothing to inject with its fierocity. And so, it sits in the soul, souring, digesting whatever it touches with its hands of acid, killing the soul in the most bitter way possible. Killing the soul with its own one-sided love."

"You expect me to _believe_ that shit?" Scoffed the ghoul as he glared down at the subject of their discussion. "She didn't love me, didn't even _want_ me."

"Not at first, no. But you of all people should know, that hatred is only the beginning of affection." The dark eyes of the angel found the green of the poltergeist. "Fear and hatred are what give love's toxins such an addictive quality."

"_Bull_shit." The chilled are grew colder as the ghost radiated his anger. Gabriel smirked and turned away from the ghoul, attempting to keep his feathers from ruffling at the raw power that slid over them.

"Lydia." Purred the Angel of Death, his wings unfurling as lightning flashed dramatically behind him, only to return to being invisible against the darkness when it passed. "Your time has come."

"N-no…" Her voice was soft, the dramatic effect had been lost on her. "Not…yet…" Gabriel stared impassively down at the young woman, though inwardly he was confused, her conscious being should not have heard his call, only her soul, and then only to obey.

"Why not, my gothic angel?" He rested an equally pale hand upon her bloodless cheek.

"He's…here…" The pair of supernatural beings felt her weak soul flicker more brightly for an instant, seeking to connect with its source, only to return to its previous state of slow decay.

"Who's here?" Gabriel's smooth voice washed through the room, his eyes held a strange gleam.

"Bet…geuse…" Her eyes opened slightly here only to be met with darkness. "Geuse…Bete…use…" Her voice became too weak and faded out of audibility. Betelgeuse snarled in contempt, she _couldn't_ have been obsessed with him when he needed a bride, oh _no._ And now that Juno had imposed a new law to close up the loophole his chance was lost. But, gazing down upon a creature whose spirit had never been quite fiery, but was far from weak, and watching that creature struggle to hold on, and to know that they were holding on solely for _you…_it was enough to pull at even his currupted heartstrings.

A certain angel of death glanced at the ghoul, and smirked, he faded into the shadows dispersing to carry the new development to his Lord.

Maybe the bitch did deserve this. Maybe it would all be for the best if he just let her die right here and now. Maybe he'd just be digging himself deeper by helping her. But hell, there was nothing _else _for him to do. So maybe, just this once, he could humor her as her final wish. So wrapped up was the ghoul in his thoughts, that he failed to feel the slight change Lydia's soul had undergone, or the lack of decay now within.

"Its show time, babes."

_A/N:_

_Hope you enjoyed, remember to leave some feedback negative or positive doesn't matter to me as long as i hear what you have to say. And it IS cold outside...flames would do very well to keep me warm..._


	2. Budding of the Rose

Love is a Rose

Chapter 2: The Budding of the Rose

Love is a rose. Its seed is planted in the very soul of an individual. Love is also a weed it will grow wherever it can, however it can. The unintentional nurturing of a hatred, no matter how vile it should be, could easily turn into the beginning of love. A rosebud, if you will. This rosebud will, in all likelihood, never make it to even a half-bloomed blossom, but, in rare instances, this rose is allowed to grow to its full potential with or without the consent of its host.

* * *

Wind tugged gently at midnight black tresses, a pale youth gazed up into the black abyss of the night sky, her skin a luminescent pearl under the full light of the moon. It put the moon's mottled face to shame, nothing, except perhaps the flawless pearl itself, could match the pale translucence of her skin. But even then, there were corruptions. No, nothing could match Lydia's bloodless overtone, and come out looking as surreal as she. Her eyes were sunken slightly, a wary sparkle resting behind them. Her dark orbs left the endless abyss of the night sky, and returned to the canvas before her, the gothic beauty continued her painting, modeling it almost perfectly after the shady landscape before her, except for one flaw: a certain shadow appeared in the painting, that was not visible in reality.

The shade fell over the lush grasses illuminated by the full light of the moon with a suggestion of an under fed stomach and a hint of crazy hair.

_Eyes like sunken emeralds, hair like the yellow pages of long forgotten lore…_ The young woman shook her self out of her revere and glared at the painting before softening her gaze. No matter how hard she tried, hatred just wasn't enough anymore. Neither, however, was she content with neglect, because when Lydia _wasn't_ thinking about the ghoul, she was _wishing _that she would think about him. Which, in itself, is thinking about that godforsaken egotistical perverted bastard!

Well, that wasn't _exactly_ true. What she wished, was that she had something new to tack onto her already extensive list of metaphors and impossible situations she imagined could swirl about the enigma of Betelgeuse. Lydia gasped out loud and looked around, suddenly wondering if thinking his name counted as a release.

_'Don't be an idiot, you would have let him out hundreds of times by now if it did._' Snorted a voice from the back of her mind. Again the youth shook her head, angry at herself for falling into her normal pattern of thought. The gothic girl swirled her paintbrush through the specific shade of green she had mixed, and applied it to the shade upon the grass of her painting, resting between two of the trees on her property. Shinning emerald eyes gleamed back at her, and she smiled softly. She knew what was happening…knew it all too well.

One-sided love. That was what this was called. Or at least, that's what this would develop into, she was sure of it. And it was true, what her mother had told her at such a young age…

Love is a rose.

Because surly these were the thorns of that rose, underdeveloped as it was, pricking her fingers, drawing life from her flowing blood so that she would be stuck with it for the rest of eternity. Surly the sweet scent she imagined whenever she thought of him were the developing pedals within the rosebud.

Lydia scowled and shook her head, she was thinking about him again. The key to happiness was a pleasant blankness, like a veil over her mind, if she kept it up long enough, it would be second nature, and she could live a perfectly natural life without the thoughts of a creature she was born to hate, not love. How was it possible to love such a creature as him anyhow? They existed on completely different planes!

_'Unless you—' _Lydia shook her head once more, adding detail to the almost black leaves upon the trees as the gentle hands of the wind continued its ministrations of her hair.

Betelgeuse was the wind. Betelgeuse was lightning. Betelgeuse was a thunderstorm. Betelgeuse was all things destructive…so why had she fallen for him? What could have spoiled a perfectly good mutual hatred? Because Lydia was sure that he hated her just as much as she had hated him.

Once again she mixed the blue-black of the eternal heavens and applied it to the already full canvas. The winds sighed over her, the moon stared intently down at the painting young woman, the leaves of the trees murmured songs as ancient as the Earth itself.

And all Lydia realized, was that she had somehow obtained an unwanted rosebud.

* * *

A soul is a treasure, kept under lock and key within the body and protected at all costs. Because the soul is the surfer of time, riding the waves of eternity to provide a truly immortal life to those who treat others as well as themselves with respect and kindness. And through those actions preserve their own soul. But when one is close to death the security loosens and the dying's soul is allowed to spread out, overlapping the body and leaking into the world.

The poltergeist leered down at the girl's half-lidded eyes, his decaying teeth bared in what was unmistakably meant to be an intimidating smirk. The darkness around them swirled with the shock-waves of Lydia's distressed soul, distressed, he finally noted, but not decrepit any longer. Strange…she seemed to be feeding off his minimal pity for her to sustain herself…but no, that wasn't right. She wasn't doing this consciously or even purposefully, it was that insufferable weed rooted within her stomach that leeched from his sympathies like a parasite.

"You came." Her voice was so quiet, and her eyes so sunken, it would be no surprise if the bitch were to die right here and now. Even her soul seemed to mirror this thought, its strength waning and waxing like the constant cycles of the moon. There was much turmoil in the depths of her soul, and according to its pleas most of the turmoil came about only when she had thoughts of _him_.

Betelgeuse was no mind-reader, he had been unable to inherit that particular ability, but the human soul itself communicated with those all around it, one only had to listen. And the poltergeist, like it or not, had power enough to not help but hear the cries of the tortured souls of the living. And her's was torn halfway between love and hate, tattered about the edges where the decomposition had begun, gray with the swirling venom of her own forced love.

All truth be told, Betelgeuse was sure that the bitch was dying, but something forced her to hang on, to defy Gabriel's words, to defy God's mercy to allow her into heaven. Did she truly wish to continue to suffer, if only to witness his presence for a few moments more?

The silence stretched between the two figures, cloaked in their own darkness. One awash in his dark thoughts, the other attempting to keep her head above the void which threatened to swallow her.

"I hate you." Growled the petite figure from within her nest of sheets, the soul around her flared once more with the power of her hatred before pulling back and continuing its corrupted swirl about her lithe frame. The young gothic woman grimaced as if she had been struck a physical blow, and for the first time Betelgeuse was aware of how in-tune with the spirits around her Lydia was. Had she enough power, she could communicate with others' souls, just as he did hers.

"Feeling's mutual, babes." His voice had not changed in the least, which slightly surprised the manifestation, because he had been sure that all these deep thoughts had somehow _evolved _him. Betelgeuse had never before been so preoccupied with another's soul, had never before felt so goddam _guilty_ for something that was not his fault. He couldn't have helped that the girl had developed a crush, all he wanted was to marry her and get the hell _out. _He wouldn't even have bothered with a consummation.

And now here he was _out _but he couldn't bring himself to enjoy it. All he could do was feel sorry for this delicious creature before him, her and her fading soul. All Betelgeuse, notorious bio-exorcist could do was reminisce about things he had never before cared about. Hell, he hadn't even remembered the bitch's name until Gabriel had crooned it like a starcrossed lover, but for some reason the thought of her death, the thought of Lydia being taken by _anything_ but himself, increased the anger and hatred he felt for her ten-fold. Because she was _his_ and _his_ alone.

And no fairy angel wannabe was going to take her away from him, he promised himself that much at least. It no longer mattered about the loophole, because his hatred had budded into obsession. And had Betelgeuse cared to check, he'd have noticed the tiny thorns dripping poison down the front of his undead soul.

The rose was budding.


	3. Pedals of the Rose

Love is a Rose

Chapter 3: Pedals of the Rose

Love is a rose. Its pedals each unique in their monotony, each pedal representing another love. Some of these pedals fall, others of these pedals remain. Some are beautiful and pure, others are corrupted and evil, and still more are misunderstood and overrated. The pedals blossom, the pedals die, and when the last of these pedals falls to the earth there is no hope for this love.

* * *

Gabriel bowed before his master, the Lord, keeping himself humble in order to disincline his Lord's wrath. The entity before him was magnificent, shining brightly and radiating a pure power that put his own to shame. Gabriel shifted his wings uneasily; perhaps the lord was ignoring him because of the incident with Cupid? But no, His Lordship had already forgiven him for that misdeed. The Angel of Death shivered slightly but kept his head bowed, waiting to be acknowledged, perhaps the Lord was merely too involved to concede him.

"Gabriel." The rich amused voice of his master filled him with relief, his lord had simply been busy after all. "Rise my child and share your news." Obediently the angel rose, keeping his head held down to communicate his humility.

"Bless me Lord for I have failed you. But I bring…interesting news." Here his lip quirked, and he sensed the change in the Almighty's magnificent aura, he was interested.

"And what is this news?" The voice was curious, and Gabriel's eyes rose to meet his lord's, ignoring the paperwork surrounding the magnificent being. The angel remembered a day and age when God had ruled supreme, with no order to death. No paperwork bound them then, the Lord monitored all of humanity without records, it was when humanity had become so overwhelming and discovered the grays between good and evil that God had enlisted some sort of system.

"I was unable to recover the decrepit soul of Lydia Deetz. But her soul, though weak, is no longer decaying, she is gaining her strength back as we speak." Here the Angel of Death smirked, the Almighty had quirked an eyebrow and leaned forward.

"Her soul was lovesick, correct?" The Lord would hate to think that he had made a mistake in diagnosis.

"Aye." Nodded Gabriel.

"Love sick for the poltergeist Betelgeuse?" Here the quirked eyebrow was joined by its comrade as the pair disappeared into his white hairline.

"Aye." Gabriel suppressed a smirk, he knew where this was going.

"How is it possible…" The lord shook his head and sighed, but it was not an irritated sigh, it was one of relief. For once he was glad he had given man free-will. This proved that there was some sympathy even in the hardest of souls. So perhaps this emotion was forced from the roots of a deep-seeded resentment and hatred. So perhaps he would still have no qualms with harming her. But he was sure that if given the proper competition, or properly motivated, he would embrace the full-bloom of his feelings.

"Gabriel." His voice was serious again, the Angel of Death snapped to attention, he was about to receive an important assignment. "I want you to keep trying to collect the mortal Lydia's soul." Here he smiled, anticipating. It had been a long while since he'd pushed a Fated couple together. He had assumed that the Fates had ceased in choosing their targets, but these two…would be a very interesting match indeed.

* * *

Silence.

Pure, peaceful, undisturbed silence. How he _hated_ it. He hated it almost as much as he hated _her_. His eyes, glowing gently in the darkness, slid over her stilled figure, drinking in her image like a starving man did wine. However much he hated her, now that he was here he could not bring himself to end her life. Or even to torment her like he had always dreamed to. Was he becoming soft in his age? Had it been a century or so earlier, he'd have had no qualms with ending her life for pulling one over on him. But now, the very thought of such a thing…of putting a stop to that heated _blood._ He could feel her heat from where he stood, and god it felt so _good._

He now understood why Incubus(1) took the jobs they did. Understanding did not fix the fact, however, and made him hate her all the more. But soon he remembered, it was no longer hate, but obsession. An obsession which burned inside his bosom like a red-hot ember, making him grateful, not for the first time, that his heart had already ceased to beat. For if it had not, surely it would now, with such a passion gripping at his veins. Never, neither in life nor death had the manifestation felt this way for an individual.

The ghoul smirked, yes this was the first time he had allowed himself to grow attached to a woman, or girl as the case was. And although he did not mind the profits of having such a burden fixated on him, here he drank her curves in once more, there were undoubtedly negative consequences to a mortal whore to keep him company. She would be very fragile, for one. But then again…the heat of her life would add such spice to the entire process…then there was the risk of feminine 'problems' such as P.M.S.

The ghoul frowned, no, he would have none of that, it was hard enough to deal with the dead women of the Neither world whom had not had such feminine problems in over half a century. He could not even fathom what it would be like to have a _live_ woman. The heat that would course through him at her touch, the feel of her pulse below, or above, him. The feel of her pulsing _around_ him. Not that the dead did not satisfy, he merely missed the feeling of warm life pumping around him…

Maybe he should think of a career as an Incubus (1)…but souls were so fickle a diet nowadays...

"Lydia, pumpkin?" The voice of Charles drifted cautiously from the doorway, distracting Betelgeuse from his contemplation. "The doctor's here."

The ghoul rolled his eyes, but didn't bother hiding. He knew they couldn't see him anymore than they could see the maitlands, mostly because he preferred to remain insubstantial when not playing grotesque tricks on others. The manifestation snorted when the doctor, an aged creature whom he was sure would join the other side within the next day, lurched his way into the room.

"What seems to be the problem?" Warbled the amazingly soprano voice of the otherwise male-seeming doctor. Charles took a deep breath and unknowingly stared through Betelgeuse as he shook his head.

"She's weak, she hardly wakes up, she has no appetite…but otherwise she seems fine, with only a slight fever. Frankly doctor, we were hoping you'd know what was happening to her." Charles stared at his daughters sleeping form.

The doctor nodded once and reached trembling hands into his medical bag, drawing out the stethoscope and lifting Lydia's shirt to hear her heartbeat weakly against her ribs. He frowned before relocating to listen to her lungs, hearing the failing there too. Once more he relocated to the stomach, where he heard only emptiness.

"She needs to eat. Her heart is weak, as are her lungs." Muttered the professional as he felt around Lydia's abdomen for any signs of pain, unsure as of yet, what he should single out.

"She won't eat." Sighed her father as he shook his head once more. The doctor ignored him having just been stating what he had observed.

Betelgeuse wrinkled his nose in distaste at the geezer, but dismissed him as just that, an old fuck who could not whip it out for the girl in front of him if he had a barrel full of little blue pills. But still, to watch anyone else put their hands on something he had claimed as his own was infuriating…to say the least. So what if she were dying? The bone-bags should realize it would not be the end of her, were she to die. She'd be forced to haunt this place for 125 years, as long as they stayed put for that time, she would remain here, trapped.

The ghoul snorted his contempt his eyes holding an angry edge to them as he felt the urge to relocate closer to the weakened girl. She was getting better anyhow, the girl would live. And it was all thanks to him. Here the ghoul smirked, levitating to just above the young woman enjoying the tremble he sent through both her and the doctor, who looked up and through him as if expecting someone to actually be there.

"Sir?" Charles queried. The doctor shook his head, trying to calm his racing heart as he continued his examination.

"I can find nothing wrong with her physically." The doctor was feeling rushed now in response to the impatience radiating from the ghoul hovering invisibly above him. The old duff had his suspicions, the way the air had cooled significantly since his visit, the breaths of wind he could feel, the cold spot pressing down on him from above. The old man was no fool, he could tell a haunted house a mile off. But these people would never believe his theory of a psychic vampire in the form of an invisible ghost, feeding off of the young girl in front of him.

He shook his head once more before sighing and leaving the room.

To the best of his extensive knowledge the young gothic girl was doomed.

_**(1). Incubus: A male version of a Succubus, seducing and stealing the life or soul out of a female mortal.**_

_A/N_

_Sorry it took me so long to get this chapter up, it took me a bit of brainstorming and I was torn between the title Pedals of the Rose and Darkness of the Rose, neither theme is much enforced in this chapter, but hopefully I can eventually find a better title for it._


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